


a full dosage of detrimental dysfunction

by ironxprince



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Birmingham City, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Sad Tommy Shelby, Suicide Attempt, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironxprince/pseuds/ironxprince
Summary: Grace finds a vial of cyanide hidden in Tommy's wardrobe. During an ensuing conversation, she learns why it's there.She wishes she hadn't.
Relationships: Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	a full dosage of detrimental dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentions of drug use and potential suicide
> 
> This is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders. Let me know what you think!

Charlie’s faint breaths become even as Grace steps away from his room, her pink nightdress swishing around her ankles. She retreats to her own bedroom, the sound of Tommy’s pen scratching against parchment echoing from his study and accompanying her through the hallway. She knows Tommy to be working late, he had warned her of such, and so Grace doesn’t expect him to bed for hours.

It makes her nervous, to say the least, whenever Tommy’s not around. They had found each other years ago and clung to one another since, and it feels weird to be apart, especially when being haunted by thoughts of guns and bullets and images of the other bleeding out in back alleyways. Tommy is only in the house, Grace knows this. She knows he’s safe.

That doesn’t make the cool, empty mattress look any more enticing.

She knows Tommy keeps a stash of opium somewhere, knows it helps him sleep when the scars from the war, both mental and physical, become unbearable. All she has to do is find it.

She sees nothing in the bedside drawer - of course. That would be too easy for Charlie to reach. Nothing under his pillow, though Grace hadn’t really expected it to be. Where she ends up finding it is in the wardrobe.

Though, it’s not the only vial there.

The opium sits on the top shelf, and Grace takes it hand. As she begins to turn away, something catches the light, hidden beneath a stack of garments. Something in Grace tells her she doesn’t want to probe further. A stronger part of her tells her she must.

With an anxious feeling in her bones which Grace doesn’t know from where it stems, she nudges the pile of shirts aside.

Beneath, she finds a dark vial, opaque glass. Her heart pounds as she holds it up to the light to get a better look at the contents within.

“Put it down.”

Grace startles when she hears the voice behind her. She hadn’t expected to see Tommy standing in the doorway, his eyes focused somewhere at her feet - in denial, perhaps. Shame.

“I hadn’t heard you come up,” Grace says after a moment of stunned silence.

“Put it down,” Tommy repeats.

Grace observes the bottle in her palm, Tommy’s aversion to it striking her interest. How long has it been here? Clearly, Tommy knew about its presence - why hadn’t he told her?

“What is it?” she asks, leaning close enough to see shifting particles inside. Tommy says nothing, and she lifts her eyes to his. “Tommy.” Her voice is stern, though not unkind, as she crosses the room to his side. The vial in one hand, she lifts the other to brush against Tommy’s cheek with a featherlight touch. He leans into it slightly, letting his eyelids flutter.

“You wouldn’t appreciate knowing,” he says.

“As your wife, is that not my job?”

Tommy doesn’t meet her eyes as he takes the bottle from her palm, pinching it between two fingers. “Cyanide,” he says simply. “A shipping arrived in the harbor last-”

“Why is it in our bedroom?” Grace interrupts, the tremble in her voice betraying her hard stare and lifted chin as her heart skips a beat. She asks, though she already suspects the answer.

For the first time since knowing him, Tommy seems truly  _ small, _ his shoulders concaved in on himself and his eyes tired as his head drops. Grace watches as his fingers loosen around the bottle and he cradles it in his palm, eyeing it with hatred, and hope.

That look on his face frightens her, and Grace places her hand atop Tommy’s open one, shielding the bottle from view.

“Are you planning to leave me and Charlie, Tommy?” Grace whispers. Tommy lifts his eyes, just slightly. They land somewhere around her chin.

“I wasn’t planning to use it,” he murmurs. “I pocketed it for use in the future. A man can never have too many resources.”

“But  _ this _ one-” Grace tightens her fingers- “never made it to the vault. Why?”

It’s a moment before Tommy answers, his eyes on where their fingers intertwine, but Grace really knows he’s looking to the vial beneath.

“It’s a last resource, Grace. A soldier’s death.”

“A spy’s,” she corrects.

Tommy finally meets her eyes, his thumb coming up to stroke against her cheek. “You would know.” The faintest smile crosses Grace’s lips, but it’s gone as soon as it had come.

“Are you expecting trouble, Tommy?”

“I always am.”

“But this indicates something stronger than  _ always. _ Is there something I should know? Something I should  _ do?”  _ Tommy’s eyes fall somewhere over her shoulder. He’s silent for a moment too long, and Grace’s hand clenches tighter around his, the glass digging into her palm. “ _ Tommy.” _

“I’m weak, Grace,” he answers finally, his jaw clenched tight. A fire springs to light behind his eyes, but it’s one that’s been lit for a while. It’s fading. This one is tired. “I’m weak, and I’m broken. Some men came back fine, but I....” He closes his eyes, and his empty hand clenches into a fist at his side. Grace’s eyes grow sad as she watches him suffer. He’s in a place she cannot reach.

“Every night, I see them. Every morning, I  _ hear... _ and you and Charlie, you pull me back every day. But when the sun sets, Grace, they  _ return.”  _ He shakes his head, his fingers tapping frantically against his thigh. “And I fight men every day. I use guns and bullets and I win with ease, and yet  _ this _ -”

Tommy steps back, all at once, and Grace’s hands fall limp to her sides as she watches him retreat.

“You cannot leave me, Thomas Shelby.”

Tommy tilts his chin up, his stance confident, but his eyes tired. So, so tired. “And what will you do if I go?”

“I will follow you down, and beg the devil to return you to me. And if he does not, I will fight him for you.”

“Unless, of course, you find me-”  _ Dead, _ Grace fills in with a shiver- “within the first half hour, in which case you must find a way into Heaven.”

“I will do it,” she answers in an honest whisper. “Believe me when I say.”

Tommy regards her for a moment. It’s not an analytical stare, that of which she has seen many times in the past. This stare is lost. It’s trapped somewhere between the past and the present, its boot stuck halfway into the mud of reality.

“I’ve already got one foot in the grave,” Tommy mutters, his eyes glassy. “I risk death every day, Grace. What is the difference if it’s of my own volition?”

Grace steps closer, her eyes ablaze. “The difference is, you’re  _ choosing  _ to leave me.”

Tommy peers down at her, his eyes sad. “But it would not be  _ you, _ my love-”

“But you’d be gone anyway, and I would never know.”

Grace holds his stare as long as she can, but she’s forced to look away when his outline becomes blurred, ripples in water.

“You cannot leave me, Thomas Shelby. I won’t let you.”

Tommy sighs as his hand, with danger within, rises, fist closed, to push her hair behind her ear using a single knuckle. “I would never leave you, my dear.”

Grace raises her hand to encompass his. Gently, she begins to pry the bottle from between his fingers. With sad eyes, he allows it. “You must promise me,” she whispers.

Tommy places his hands on either side of her face and leans down slow, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Grace lifts her right hand, only her right, to rest gently on his waist.

Tommy leans back, touching his forehead to her own. “Okay,” he whispers, his breath hot on her cheek. “I promise.”

He steps away, meeting her eyes with a slight smile before turning and departing down the hall. Grace watches him go, a worried expression creasing her lips. She shivers at the death she holds in her left hand, the vial weighing heavy in her palm. She vows to throw it into the cut at first light tomorrow. For now, she’ll hide it beneath her pillow,

and pray Tommy does not find a different method.


End file.
